


An Accident

by vanete_druse



Category: Common Law
Genre: Desperation, M/M, Masturbation, Smut, Watersports, Wetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2016-03-31
Packaged: 2018-05-30 08:40:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6416644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanete_druse/pseuds/vanete_druse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wes finds himself very distracted when he gets handcuffed to a pole with a desperate Travis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Accident

**Author's Note:**

> I noticed there was a distinct lack of terribly filthy and disgusting fics for wesvis. So I took it on myself to fill that hole. All I have to say for myself is: I am so, so sorry.

Wes doesn’t really know how it is that he and Travis always seem to find themselves in unseemly predicaments. One minute, the arrest is going fine, yet another criminal about to be booked and put behind bars thanks to their ingenious detective skills – the next, guys are pouring out from the back room and they’re surrounded, overpowered, disarmed, and handcuffed together to an incredibly sturdy pipe.

They could’ve had the decency to cuff them by one wrist, that would’ve been the _easy_ way, but clearly this gang have watched one too many spy films, and so instead Wes finds himself hugging this pipe, both hands cuffed, sitting on the dirty floor of the warehouse, facing Travis, who is doing the same.

“Well, this is unfortunate,” Travis says, his tone airy but his voice a little sharp, betraying his actual frustration. He’s subtly trying to pull against the pipe, to dislodge it, but Wes has already noticed the impossibility of that, doesn’t bother to risk the pain of chafed wrists and sore limbs for the attempt. Wes wants to tell him to save his strength but Travis has always been a man who needs to try before he knows, and so instead he simply sits and watches, making sure he doesn’t hurt himself too badly.

Eventually, Travis sighs and settles down, letting his arms go limp, as the gang finishes packing everything up and leaves, no traces of their crimes left except for the two bound detectives in the corner.

“How long do you think it will be before someone finds us?” Travis asks, because talking helps him cope with the reality of his situation in a way that Wes has never really been able to verbalize for himself. “An hour or two?”

Their eyes meet from around the pipe, wordlessly expressing the same thought that passed their minds; that they acted too impulsively, without telling anyone of their lead, or leaving any obvious clue behind as to where they might have gone on their desks.

“No longer than five hours,” Wes replies, his voice steady and confident, remembering his days as a young lawyer, talking up clientele that he has no faith in. If Travis realizes this, he makes no sign of it, merely nodding and letting his eyes drop down to the concrete floor.

It doesn’t take long for things to become uncomfortable.

*

When it starts, it’s nothing more than a fidget, which Wes barely notices as anything strange – Travis has always been one with a lot of energy, and he figures it’s nothing more than the built up tension from being still for so long. But then it continues, as he pulls his legs towards him and then spreads them out again, pulling his wrists tight as he attempts to move as far away from the pipe, and Wes, as possible. 

“What are you doing?”

Travis groans a bit, and laughs humorlessly, before saying, “I have to _piss_.” The emphasis expresses all his disbelief, that of all the given situations, this would be the one he would find himself in – useless, hands bound, and without any way to gauge the amount of time before they’re rescued.

“It shouldn’t be too much longer now.” It’s the proper thing to say but it’s meaningless, empty words that do nothing in terms of actual consolation.

“Right, right.” Travis stays sitting at an awkward angle, his body turned as far away in the opposite direction as possible.

*

“You don’t have to do that.”

“What?”

Wes swallows hard, licks his own lips, stretches himself as much as he can with his limited mobility, and says, “ _That_. It looks uncomfortable, and we’re already going to be sore enough as it is tomorrow morning.”

“But I don’t…” Travis trails off, incapable of finishing his sentence for the first time in their entire seven years together as partners. There’s the lightest of blushes darkening his features, his eyes fixed to the wall above Wes’s ear. He doesn’t need Travis to finish to know what he means: _I don’t want to piss on you._

It takes all of Wes’s willpower not to gasp out loud, to shiver at the thought of it. “It is what it is. Let’s just call this whole thing a judgment free situation.”

There’s silence, and then the undeniable sound of denim rubbing against concrete, as Travis quietly rearranges himself into a more comfortable, much closer position.

Taking a deep breath, Wes lets his cheek rest against the cold exterior of the pole, trying to pretend there isn’t a pool of warmth edging slowly down to a very inappropriate portion of his body with every minor fidget and grunt of discomfort from Travis.

*

When Travis lets out a gentle moan, Wes tries his hardest to keep steady and not appear eager in looking up and seeing a dark spot appear on his jeans. “Judgment free situation, right?”

“Right.”

“Good, because I’m definitely going to piss myself.”

His voice is a little breathless and labored, and Wes is glad the pole is in the way, given that the tightness of his suit lends absolutely not coverage of his arousal. The dim lighting of the warehouse makes the warmth on his pale skin much less conspicuous as he pretends to avert his gaze, watching Travis relieve himself out of the corner of his eye.

It starts as just a few leaks, of course, as social convention makes Travis pause, attempt to hold on longer than physically possible due to _shame_ , before the floodgates are opened – Travis’s whole body goes limp for a moment as he moans, just a little too loudly, just a little too _obscenely_ , as he completely and totally pisses himself.

Wes feels the liquid seep slowly into his suit trousers, just a little bit warm, and it takes his entire willpower not to get up and frott against the pole. “Sorry, man.”

“It happens,” Wes replies, trying to keep the breathiness out of his own tone, not to let the other man know how his involuntary actions had affected him.

If Travis notices, he says nothing, merely sitting still as if moving is now impossible, not wanting to shift the urine towards his partner any more than it already is.

Letting his head fall back against the cement wall, Wes sighs.

*

An hour later they’re discovered by Kate and Amy, who burst in with guns head high, only to find nothing but their fellow detectives, chained together to a pole, in a small puddle.

There is nothing but silence as they’re uncuffed, allowed now to rub their bruised wrists and stretch out their stiff joints as they rise themselves.

Travis doesn’t look at him the entire time, barely bids him a “good bye” when they finally part at the station. But Wes doesn’t fail to see the way he doesn’t bother to cover his still soaked jeans, and how he holds his head high amongst the stares.

It already haunts him.

*

He doesn’t even make out of the small entryway of his hotel room – the moment the door his closed behind him, he finds himself slumped against it, his hands wildly unbuttoning just enough to slip underneath and rub at himself, slick with precum. It takes an embarrassingly small amount of attention before he’s seeing stars, cumming harder than he can ever remember.

_This is going to be a problem_ , he thinks to himself, even though he knew that from before.

*

“Is something wrong?”

It’s been two weeks since the capture, and they’re sitting in LA traffic, Wes trying to contain his temper as he taps his fingers against the steering wheel and inches forward. This question takes him by surprise but he tries not to react, merely swallows hard and fiddles with the air conditioning.

He’s been trying to act normal but it keeps invading his mind, the sound of Travis’s voice as he let go completely, and the constant tension is grating on his last nerves – he knows it’s been a _while_ since the last time he got laid, but damn if it doesn’t bother him the way his body now can’t stop reminding him. It would’ve been fine if Travis didn’t have to go and stumble across the last part of him that makes him feel utterly dirty, guilty, immoral, and, quite frankly, amazingly satisfied.

“Of course not,” Wes replies instead, which earns him one of Travis’s trademark _‘you are so full of bullshit’_ looks.

“This is about what happened in the warehouse…” Travis starts, and Wes’s breath hitches in his chest just slightly, until he finishes with, “…you’re mad I ruined one of your suits.”

“I have full confidence in the abilities of the workers at my dry cleaners.” He didn’t feel the need to add that, if anything, his cum would be the harder bodily fluid to get out of the expensive fabric.

“So you avoiding me now has _nothing_ to do with the fact that everybody saw that I pissed myself?”

_Why me,_ Wes wonders vaguely, trying to distract himself from that very vivid mental picture that paints inside his head. _What did I do to deserve this?_

“I’m not ashamed of being around you now, if that’s what you think. We are all mature adults about an entirely understandable situation.”

“Is that so?”

The smooth jazz that fills the silence in those few moments feels awkward, unfit for the situation, and there’s a part of Wes that almost wants to turn it to Travis’s favorite hip hop station and turn it up, louder than he approves of, if only for the distraction. And it would only be delaying the inevitable – Travis would just corner him another time, and another, as many as it takes to extract the answer that he wants from Wes.

Maybe if he just _says_ it, then it can stop plaguing him, and he can finally move on from this whole nightmare – and after all, Dr. Ryan is always preaching about honesty and communication, so if this whole thing goes wrong, then at least he’s got scapegoat. “Okay, so, listen. I’m not avoiding you because of what anyone at the precinct thinks. I said that whatever happens, I wouldn’t judge, and I _meant_ that.”

“But?” Travis prompts, arms crossed over his chest, trying to come off as aloof and nonchalant, but failing miserably. Wes feels much the same.

“But….and, you have to promise not to freak out before I say this. Promise me, Trav! I’m just being honest.”

“Okay, I promise to not freak out. What’s your excuse?”

“But….I have a wetting kink.”

Travis’s arms drop in shock, his spine straightening, blinking multiple times in order to process the words coming out of Wes’s mouth. “ _Excuse_ me?”

“I….I get off on watching people wet themselves. That’s why I’ve been acting weird. I can’t—I can’t stop…”

Wes trails off as Travis falls silent, watching as the other man opens his mouth and closes it multiple times in a row, at a loss for a response.

There’s nothing more he can bring himself to say as an explanation. He switches the radio station and spins the volume dial, sitting back and letting the car speakers pound out the heavy bass, to shield him from any further conversation.

*

Wes seriously considers calling out the next day or for the entire week, not sure how he can possibly show his face to his partner after admitting such a thing – he might as well just file his own request for a transfer now, if Travis hasn’t done so already.

He can’t bring himself to mope at the bar downstairs even though he desperately wants a drink. Tracing circles on the smooth surface of his phone, he debates on how much harm it would do if he were to call and try to take back the words, to say it was just a stupid joke, that he wasn’t serious, but he figures the time window for that was long closed.

There’s a knock at his door, and he almost refuses to get up off the bed to answer it, thinking that it was probably nothing more than a room number mix up anyways, until it becomes so persistent that he can’t ignore it. Wes feels he should’ve realized by the rising tempo and steady increase in obnoxiousness that there can be nobody but Travis on the other end, but it still takes him by surprise.

“So…I’ve been thinking about what you said,” Travis starts, pushing his way inside the hotel room without waiting for express permission – not that he really needs it, not that he ever really needed it in the first place – casually pulling off his leather jacket and throwing it to the side of the couch, “And I did a little research, and you know what I found? That when you full bladder orgasms are even more powerful. Is that true?”

Wes’s tongue feels like sandpaper as he moves it to rasp out a soft, “Yes.”

“Good, because I have to piss like a bitch again and I’m dying to know what the fuss is about.”

Travis doesn’t give Wes any time to process the words that slipped out of his mouth before he’s pulling him down to the couch with him, kissing him with the same desperation that Wes has felt for two agonizing weeks.

At least he doesn’t have to worry about the transfer paperwork, Wes thinks dimly before Travis gasps underneath his touch and leaks into his hand just the smallest of amounts, and all other thoughts are immediately vanished.

*

Travis barely makes it to the bathroom after Wes finishes, clutching at himself during his desperate dash and not even bothering to close the door as he pees a heavy stream. Wes can’t help but peek inside, his features flushed, the tip of his pink tongue slipping out to wet his lips as he watches. “Holy _fuck_ that’s intense.”

“Yeah, that is the general consensus.” Wes is smirking, laughing a bit as Travis flushes the toilet and stands in the doorway, the look of relief and bliss written across his features.

“Detective Wesley Mitchell, closet kinkster. Who would have guessed,” Travis smirks right back. “And to think, I was so _convinced_ I was being weird for having this nagging excitement for pissing my pants. Like I was doing something _so_ naughty, so it was fun. Well, at least that mystery is closed.”

“You say that almost as if you want to piss yourself again.” Wes doesn’t want to get his hopes up, knowing that this is just one of Travis’s experiments, and just like with everyone else, he will be dropped when Travis gets bored, or moves on to another deviant interest he wants to pursue.

“I mean…I _could_ be persuaded, I’m just saying,” Travis shrugs, but his face clearly says _‘persuade me’_.

Wes has a feeling that he’s not going to be able to resist.


End file.
